August is the Cruelest Month

T. S. Eliot was wrong. It’s August. He hated how April gave false promise of new beginnings, made your own depression vivid while the world around you was blooming. Fair enough.

But, Jesus, August is hot.

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“Tis said that they in August born are apt to live and die forlorn…” Yes.

I know other people do all that Christmas in July stuff because it’s the other side of the year from the season. But for me, August is the time when I need the most cheering up. Even though it’s one month closer to cooler weather, getting through August is always the longest slog. Maybe it’s leftover from being a kid and not wanting to go back to school. Maybe it’s because there aren’t any holidays to mess with.

Or maybe it’s because I’m the kind of person who sweats at the mere hint of humidity, and August, again, is just a miserable swamp of a month.

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This has nothing to do with August or Christmas. But it came up on Google when I was looking for postcards about August. So there.

So it’s time to start thinking about Weird Christmas again. And I need podcast ideas. I’ve got a few lined up already with a handful of interviews from some fun people. (Hint, hint, and hint.) But I want to know if you guys have any requests or ideas for messed up holiday traditions or stories or “things” of any kind I should talk about. Comment away or send me a note at weirdxmas@gmail.com.

In the meantime, just remember that I’m still around. Keep my flaccid, sweaty self in your thoughts and prayers, and, if you live in Australia where Christmas is in summer, then your life sucks.

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